


Five Times Prince Noctis of Lucis Actually Kinda Sucked At Handling Chocobos (and One Time He Didn't)

by resonant_aura



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chocobros - Freeform, Gen, Happy Birthday Noctis, fluff and laughs, it's important, maybe a little OT4 if you squint, the chocobos have names everybody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 01:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12097776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resonant_aura/pseuds/resonant_aura
Summary: Like it says on the tin. Through dust and storms and volcanic plains and daemon hordes, a chocobo will answer your call--but that doesn't necessarily mean you will get along.





	Five Times Prince Noctis of Lucis Actually Kinda Sucked At Handling Chocobos (and One Time He Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to celebrate Noctis's birthday with some well-deserved fluffy times and not a slain king in sight. Well, it's still mostly fluffy, and still sort of on time! Rated T because these boys have potty-mouths, and there is some battle ick. Enjoy crazy chocobo-based shenanigans.

1.

Noctis looked blankly at the faintly gleaming bronze whistle that had rattled out of the bottom of the chocobo rental box. It still rolled a little from side to side with its momentum, massaging a sound out of the metal box like marbles in a can. “Um.”

“Sweet!” Prompto cheered, snatching up the whistle. He bobbed and shimmied in a little dance, then immediately brought the whistle to his mouth, cupped one hand around it, and blew.

Nothing happened.

“Eww,” Noctis observed. “Seriously? Other people have put their mouths on that. Who knows how recently.”

Crestfallen, Prompto gave the whistle in his hand a beady glare, then tried again, his cheeks puffing out with effort. He nearly choked on his own breath when the chocobo handler—Zoom? Whirr?—dropped a heavy hand on Prompto’s shoulder, a friendly smiled etched deep into his leathery face. “Sorry, son,” he drawled in his mountain accent, “whistle only works one way—for the feller who dropped his coin in the box. Long-ago magic, y’reckon?”

Prompto let out the longest, most gravelly groan yet. Noctis made a note for a new record in the Noises Prompto Makes When He’s Bummed. “Nooooct,” he cried, his eyes wide and forlorn, the whistle cupped in his palms like a prayer offering.

“What?”

“You have to do it!”

Noctis rubbed at the back of his head. “Do what? I mean, we’re _at_ the ranch, do we really need to use the… whatever it is.”

“Whistle,” said the rancher (Wiz! Whiz? Whizz?). “And surely you do. The chocobos are particular birds—they respond to an audio tone better’n any other kind of message. You want a chocobo, best to whistle one up than try to walk ‘em out of their pens.”

“I’d listen to the man,” offered Ignis from where he was leaning against the fencepost; he and Gladio were waiting to head out, camping gear gathered in the mud at the entrance. Apparently they felt the prince could acquire his own transportation, but that didn’t stop them from butting in when they felt like it. Noctis barely refrained from sticking out his tongue at his adviser.

He looked skeptically at the whistle, gingerly plucked it from Prompto’s hands, and examined it. “Sooo…” That part looked like a mouthpiece. Kind of. At least, the other end looked like a beak, and he didn’t really want to put it in his mouth.

“Won’t bite ya,” Wiz chuckled, hands on his hips. Noctis tried not to glare.

Oh, to hell with it.

He stuck the metal in his mouth, ignored it when it clicked against his teeth, and blew into it as hard as he could.

He did hear sound this time, almost like two notes being played at once, brassy and simple and clear.

Then he didn’t hear anything because he was facedown in the mud, there was water in his ears, and his entire torso was suddenly killing him with alternating dull and sharp pain. Noctis opened his mouth to howl and got a first-hand introduction to what the ground of the Wiz Chocobo Ranch tasted like. Not haute cuisine. He staggered upright and lunged to the side, already conjuring the magic path that would pull his sword from the armiger, when it registered that people were _laughing_.

He blinked muddy water from his eyes and found himself staring straight at an expanse of sunshiney-yellow feathers. “What—”

“Owned by a bird, Noct!” Gladio hollered from the sidelines. “Priceless!”

“Oh man, are you okay?” Prompto was immediately at his elbow, wiping muck from his face and brushing off his clothes, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of suppressing his giggles.

“It—it trampled me,” Noctis sputtered. He looked down, noting that at least mud didn’t show up much on black clothes, but also noting that it was cold, wet, smelly, he was definitely going to have a bruise in the shape of a chocobo foot on his spine, and Ignis would kill him for the cost of laundry. Breathing in hurt; he hunched his shoulders, trying to compensate, and was a little mollified when Prompto’s laughter became concerned murmurs. “Do the birds usually _run over_ the people who call them?”

Wiz at least had the grace to guffaw only once. “Ah, shoulda told ya, each bird has their own personality. Sometimes it’s a little bit to handle on yer first go-round. Shouldn’t be a problem after they get used t’ya.”

“Any chance I can trade out for a nicer one then?” Noctis asked sourly. The chocobo sidled, its crest feathers rising a little.

“Nope,” Wiz replied cheerfully, “the birds only respond to one whistle tone—that’s _your_ chocobo now, and your friends’ too. They’ll answer whenever they hear.”

“Great,” Noctis muttered under his breath. He eyed the stirrups of the saddle suspiciously, then met one of the bright black eyes of the giant bird. “Hey. Look, I’m used to my vehicles not, you know, randomly deciding to run me over, so—can you not?”

The bird let out a loud “KWEH!”, turned in place, and pooped.

“This is goooonna be aaaaawesome,” Prompto sang as he walked over to his own chocobo, who had appeared without fanfare and was docilely nosing at the ground.

Noctis glares at his bird, and swears it glares back. “Yeah,” he mumbles, his back throbbing, “ _Awesome_.”

 

2.

“Noct, your turn,” Ignis announced.

Noctis stirred, still enfolded in darkness since his eyes refused to open. “What? F’r th’ bath?”

“I’m afraid not,” replied Ignis in a gentler tone. He crouched beside Noctis and shook him a little. “We’re setting up camp. Dinner is almost ready. It’s your turn to feed the chocobos.”

“N’vr fed ‘em b’fore,” Noctis mumbled, turning over and away from Ignis’s insistent hands. “Prom.”

“Prompto’s fed them for the last five days.”

“I _pay_ f’r’em.”

There was a brief quiet. Noctis sighed, drifting back to sleep. The rain had tapered off to a mist, which was annoying, but easily ignored in favor of sleep.

“Gladio.”

“Got it. Up and at ‘em, Highness.”

Noctis yelped like a wet cat as the lumpy but not too uncomfortable pillow he had been using was unceremoniously yanked from beneath him. His head bounced against the rocky ground of the haven. He sat up, cradling the side of his head, glaring and growling like a daemon. Gladio stared down at him with an expression as unforgiving as the stone, Noctis’s erstwhile pillow—apparently all four of the fold-up chairs—slung over his shoulders. “Yeah yeah,” Gladio grunted, “I hear you, Princess. Now go feed the damn birds.” Noctis made sure to groan extra-loudly as he forced himself upright joint by joint.

“Do you need help?” Prompto asked from where he was sprawled in front of the tent. He had his phone up, but the screen was dark, and his features looked haggard. He must have been exhausted; they’d had some long battles today. Noctis bit his lip, chagrined, and shook his head, rifling through their bags of supplies for the bundles of greens for the chocobos. They weren’t too hard to find: they smelled just like the birds. A weirdly warm, itchy smell, but one that Noctis was reluctantly getting used to after over a week in the birds’ company. He dragged out a head of the leafy plant, snagged some baskets from Ignis’s prep table, and marched over to where the chocobos had made their own little brotherly circle at the opposite end of the haven.

This shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Noctis sat a little ways away from them, the four baskets lined up in front of them, shredding the leaves as he listened to the trill and croon and chirp of chocobos conversing in the evening. It was kind of soothing, actually. Except for the smell. It still made his nose burn.

When he was done he carried the baskets to the birds, feeling like a waiter in a café, and placed them gingerly in front of each chocobo. He was ready to warp out at any moment, just in case they were _really_ hungry and didn’t care what was between those beaks and their food. He backed away, watching.

Only one chocobo started feeding—Ignis’s, if he was right (but they still all looked the same to him.) One of them pecked listlessly at its basket and nibbled a little at the weave, but didn’t touch the food. The other two were staring at him like he was still hiding the food on his person, and was criminal for doing so.

“Um,” he said, stumped.

“You have to feed them by hand,” Prompto said through a gigantic yawn.

“Huh?”

“They’re not wild, you know? Sometimes they don’t even bother with the food unless you hand it to them. ‘S cute.”

Noctis shifted from foot to foot, wary. He still remembered his back giving him hell for days after that solid introductory chocobo-kick to the spleen. He’s not keen to learn whether chocobo bites hurt more than their kicks.

“Noct?” Prompto watched him blearily, obviously looking like he felt he should get up and help but was too tired to try. Noctis shot him what he hoped was a reassuring smile and waved him down.

Feed them by hand, huh. He left Ignis’s chocobo alone, since it seemed to be doing all right, and went to Prompto’s instead. His mount had seemed the friendliest of all of them. Noctis picked up the basket of greens and slowly came closer to the fluffy bird, wondering if he was supposed to make eye contact or not. He took down two packs of voretooths today; he could handle a couple tame birds. There was totally no reason for his hands to be shaking.

The chocobo’s salty, earthy smell nearly overwhelmed him as he got close enough to reach out and bury his fingers in its feathers, if he chose (he didn’t.) Prompto’s mount watched him with its head tilted in a curious manner, legs curled up beneath its down. It looked at the basket, then at Noctis, back to the basket. Noctis reached in, grabbed a handful of greens and held them out.

“Palm flat,” said Ignis from the cookstove. Noctis hurriedly straightened his fingers and flattened his palm.

He didn’t know what he was expecting—some lizard-like darting of the head, or the bobbing pecking motions of a fish interested in a lure, but Prompto’s chocobo did neither of those things. It moved with an easy, comfortable grace, calmly extended its neck to take the greens from Noctis’s hand with the same nonchalance Noctis might have had when taking a plate of food from Iggy. Surprised, Noctis held out another handful of greens, and another, and was actually startled when the basket was empty and Prompto’s bird let out a chirp that sounded grateful, then stretched its neck out along the ground to sleep.

Gladio’s chocobo wasn’t quite as relaxed; as soon as it figured out that Noctis was getting greens from the basket in the crook of his arm, it skipped over his hand entirely and lumbered up into a crouch so it could bury its beak in the basket. Noctis’s knees almost buckled, but he held himself up and even laughed when the chocobo poked around the folds of his clothes when the leaves in the bin were gone. He gently shoved the bird’s head away from his jacket when it started pecking and pulling at it; he hadn’t thought jackets had a leaf-like texture but maybe to a chocobo they were close enough.

And then… his chocobo.

The first few days had been horrible. Prompto said chocobos could tell when you didn’t like them, and Noctis had said he could tell when _chocobos_ didn’t like _him_ , which was _all the time_ —none of which really helped him to come to an understanding with his spirited, resentful, grumpy mount. He’d gotten savvy enough by now to listen for what direction the pounding steps approached from so that he could warp out of the way to avoid being flattened by his incoming bird. Still, the chocobo had elected to retaliate by walking in such a way that the saddle would slide down to one side and dump a helpless Noctis on the ground, or running so that Noctis had to lean over the chocobo’s wing joint to stay in the seat and then suddenly skidding to a stop, sending him flying over the bird’s shoulder. He’d gone flying more in the last few days than his winged companion ever would.

He was really at a loss. A petty part of him wanted to just not feed the cranky jerk, but that was a horrible thought and he squashed it immediately.

The chocobo stared him down without blinking. He could swear he heard thunder roll in the distance.

No way was he offering his hand out to that monster. It didn’t want greens, it wanted his blood. Why else would it keep trying to kill him?

But _also_ no way was he gonna back down and have Gladio make jokes about him being a wuss. He was a prince damn it. He could feed a bird if he had to.

Noctis held the basket out on both his flat palms, holding it close enough to fear for his fingers. The chocobo glanced down at the bundle of greens and then let out an indignant, muffled “kweh”. It turned its head to the side, staring at him again. Noctis scowled. “Well, what?” he demanded.

“Kweh.”

“If you’re not hungry you could just say.”

“Kweh!”

Noctis sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. At least if he lost his fingers he could say ‘I told you so’ to Ignis. Somehow. He was pretty sure. He reached in and pulled out a mostly intact leaf, laid it flat on his palm, and held it out.

_Still_ the bird turned its nose up at him. Beak. Whatever.

“Prompto!” he said, definitely not whining. “My chocobo hates me!”

The only answer he got was a snore, and a brief chuckle from Ignis. _Why_.

He flipped the leaf up so it was pinched between thumb and fingers and waved it in front of the chocobo. “See? Food! Foooood! Everyone else gets it, why can’t y—” The rest of his words were garbled in a sound somewhere between a yell and a shriek as the chocobo leaned in and snapped the leaf out of his grip.

The chocobo chewed placidly as if nothing unusual had happened. Noctis examined his hand carefully to see if any digits were unaccounted for. Then both looked up and got stuck in a staring match again. Slowly Noctis pulled another handful of greens from the basket, held them out on a flat palm; nothing. They were too well-shredded for him to just hold them up, so instead, he dangled them from between his fingers. The chocobo did it again, snaking in with an open beak to pluck the greenery from his hands. He actually dropped the greens prematurely, and the chocobo grabbed them out of the air, like a game of catch.

A game?

Noctis gave the bird a thoughtful look, backed up a few steps, and then flung a small bunch of greens from the basket.

“ _Kyee!_ ” said the chocobo, its long neck swaying as it snatched its dinner from the air. It ducked and bobbed and wiggled, an odd sort of half-dance as it chased down the greens Noctis tossed to it. He was almost laughing when the basket was empty, and found himself just a little disappointed.

“Good bird,” he said, and if anyone asked him he was being sarcastic because the thing was a curmudgeon, but… there may have been just a little genuine admiration in his voice. Just a little. A splinter. Barely there, really, honest. The chocobo eyed him and did its weird dance, neck undulating and head describing a circle as it responded with a few enthusiastic “Ku-weeeeh!” calls. Feeling bold, Noctis reached out, meaning to stroke a hand down the stiff, smooth feathers of the beast’s folded wing.

The chocobo bit him.

“Ow!” Noctis leapt backward, rubbing his hand, searching for a wound. There was a nasty pink mark coming up on the back of his hand, but at least there was no blood. He scowled at the chocobo, who smugly chirped one last time and then settled in next to its traveling kin, one wing covering its head. Noctis scowled for a moment longer, then, when the rain started to pick up and Ignis mildly suggested they eat dinner in the tent, he shrugged deeper into his jacket and hurriedly stowed the empty feed baskets in with the bags of chocobo greens.

Inside the tent, Prompto was just waking up enough to take a plate of stew. Noctis pinched him hard on the back of the hand.

“Hey! What the—”

“That’s from my bird to you,” Noctis said grimly. “With love. All the chocobo love.”

 

3.

The chocobos did remarkably well on all kinds of terrain, and even though the Regalia had once again returned to their safekeeping, they found themselves renting the big birds almost as often as they rode in the car. Especially in the far western reaches of Cleigne, where the geography became as extreme as the distance from home.

Noctis yawned hugely as he staggered out of the caravan, down the uneven wooden steps and onto the wet pavement. He scowled at the still-threatening thunderclouds overhead, slowly crawling toward the glowering, smoking peak of Ravatogh. This was a volcanic plain, wasn’t it supposed to _not_ rain here? It should be super hot and dry, right? Either way, he didn’t really feel like trekking it across rocks and more rocks in the rain _or_ in the heat, and according to the map the Regalia couldn’t take them much further.

“Saddle up, Princess,” Gladio said when he caught sight of Noctis zombie-walking to the food vendor’s cart. “It’s chocobos from here to the mountain.”

“’Kay…”

He scarfed down some fries in spicy ketchup and grabbed his pack from the caravan. “All set?” he asked his companions. He ignored Gladio’s impatient glare and blew on the whistle. It took a little while, this far out in the middle of nowhere, but soon enough they heard the sound of a small chocobo herd making its way towards them. The familiar pounding feet rolled up from the road, behind him, of course, and he waited until the last second to dodge into a shoulder roll away from the sound. As expected, his chocobo plowed right through the space he had been occupying.

“’Sup, Chocobo,” Noctis greeted; he might have been smirking when he said it. His chocobo stomped in a circle to face him, its bright eye steady as it responded with a chirpy “Kweh!”

Prompto was already mounted, Gladio securing his pack on his bird’s back and Ignis speaking softly to his, one gloved hand stroking down the creature’s beak. Noctis watched for a moment and then sighed. If he tried that with his chocobo he’d probably lose a few bones for his trouble. Oh well. “C’mere, Chocobo,” he called, clucking his tongue in a way that seemed to have worked mostly well so far. “Chocobo! C’mon, it’s adventure time!”

The chocobo sidled up to him and planted its feet. Noctis got one foot in the stirrup, mounting from the left like Ignis had told him to, and had just leveraged his other foot off the ground—maybe this time it would be fine—

The chocobo sidestepped, and Noctis lost his balance and fell directly on his butt onto the field of volcanic rock.

“Oh, man,” Prompto chuckled from his safe perch. “You all right there, dude?”

“Quite a spill,” Ignis offered, having also successfully seated himself in the saddle.

Noctis groaned and brushed himself off. “It’s nothing,” he scoffed, “just Chocobo saying hi, how are you, remember how much I hate you—”

“You call it Chocobo?” Gladio asked, brow quirked skeptically.

Noctis stared at him with a flat, unimpressed look. “Uh. Yes?”

“That’s sad.” Gladio smirked. “What if we called the Regalia just Car? Or you just Prince?”

“Ignis practically does that all the time anyway,” Noctis protested.

“Or if we just called Ardyn Creepy Weird Guy—” Prompto jumped in, excited. “Oh, wait. Don’t we do that already?”

“Point is, no wonder you’re havin’ so many problems with your bird when you just call it Bird or Chocobo. You have a better relationship with your sword than you do your mount.” Gladio picked up the reins and trotted his chocobo in a little figure-eight. “Try calling it something other than, you know, Thing.”

Noctis blinked up at his bird and tilted his head quizzically. The bird mirrored him. “But… I mean, it _is_ a chocobo. Like. That’s what it’s called. So… that’s its name?”

“Nice try, Princess.”

“All right, jackass, what do you call _yours_ then?”

“Kite,” Gladio answered promptly.

“Chalky!” Prompto cheered, rustling the crest of his chocobo, who did indeed have a sort of ever-present dusty quality to its plumage.

“Phillippe,” Ignis said. Noctis gave him a look. Ignis pushed his glasses more securely onto his nose and explained, “It was the name of a renowned warrior poet in the ranks of nobility in Tenebrae circa—”

“Okay, I get it,” Noctis laughed, waving down his adviser. “You’re all great chocobo bros, and I am an uninspired tyrant. Cool.” He looked back to his chocobo, who had wandered over to the food carts on what passed for a porch at the entrance of the mart. The vendor was waving his arm in a shooing motion, but the big bird looked determined. “There’s no greens over there, Chocobo,” he called in warning, and to his surprise the chocobo actually looked over its shoulder at him, let out a sad little chirp, and left the vendor alone.

“Come on, Noct, have a little humanity and call ‘im something other than Chocobo or It,” Gladio said gruffly.

Noctis eyed his chocobo. “How about… uhh… Flavus?”

The bird’s head swiveled around. Noctis was almost proud until he noticed the ruffled feathers and the big feet kicking up scree and pebbles. Okay, maybe not. “Uhm… Rex?”

The bird leapt into the air, screamed, and began racing in circles around the four of them. Gladio’s bird—Kite, apparently—sidled and rucked up its feathers in alarm. “Geez, Noct, what—”

“Is that happy chocobo or pissed chocobo?”

“Definitely pissed,” Prompto observed, watching as the rogue chocobo began tearing up tufts of dead grass violently.

“Okaaaay… Stupeo?”

Ignis coughed. The bird screeched.

Gladio sighed and rubbed at the wrinkled spot between his eyebrows. “Noct. Don’t you think you’re missing something?”

“What?”

“Those are all names for a _male_.”

Noctis blinked. “Oh.”

Gladio snorted. “Only one other creature I’ve seen in this world behave like that, and it’s an offended lady. Bet your bird is a _bird_.”

“Gladio, please,” Ignis pleaded, though without much heat.

Noctis gazed out across the blackened, dead slope of the mountain, not really seeing anything. There was something—a wisp of a memory tugging at the back of his head, drifting through his mind without shape, but he could almost get it. Someone—someone he had heard about, before, a brave lady who ventured into the underworld and back, someone in a story—

“Inanna?”

His chocobo went still. It— _she_ —looked at him, silent. Noctis stepped around the other chocobos and crossed the pockmarked rock to get to her. “Inanna?” he said again. “That you?”

The chocobo stepped up to him and slowly lowered her head, her crest flat, eyes half-closed. Noctis very, very carefully reached out and let his fingers trail, just once, from the tiny feathers between her eyes down the smooth curve of her beak. “Inanna, huh,” he breathed, and his eyes went wide when the chocobo calmly turned and presented her stirrup to him, head cocked so she could watch him with one eye. Still careful, feeling like he was caught in a bubble of time and if he moved too slowly it would break, Noctis gripped the lip of the saddle with one hand, braced his foot in the stirrup, and as fluidly as possible swung up and over.

He sat firmly in the seat, and Inanna didn’t try to suddenly take off running, or turn so the saddle slid off, or twist her head around and make him wonder if she was thinking of snapping at him. It was… almost magical.

Then, before he could take up the reins, she took two wide steps forward and launched herself into the air, trumpeting a joyous “Ku-WEEEH!” as her wings flapped uselessly.

Noctis hit the dirt. The other three laughed.

“Progress, I guess,” Noctis groaned into the cloudy sky above. As he rolled over Inanna trotted away from him, head held proudly high, but her eyes didn’t waver from his. Yeah, progress.

 

4.

They’d put off the chocobo racing when they first discovered it, despite Prompto’s insistence; at the time they’d all been cold, wet, saddle-sore, and wishing they could sleep in real beds instead of creaky bunks in a caravan or thin pallets in the tent. But now the skies had cleared, Noctis had several more of the Royal Arms collected than they had expected by this point, and the party decided it was time for a little fun.

Typically, Prompto challenged Noctis to a race before they even arrived at the range. Less typically, Noctis beat him handily.

He sat astride Inanna as she paced a cool-down circuit, mouth agape as Prompto wailed and huffed and made a scene. It was all in good nature, and when Prompto demanded a rematch Noctis was happy to oblige. And he won again.

It was _weird._

“All right, hot shot,” Gladio snorted, mounting up on Kite’s back. “Let’s see what you’re really made of.”

And then Noctis beat _him,_ too.

And then again.

“Mighty fine bird ya got there,” crowed the gamekeeper, handing off a shiny medal to Noctis. Inanna pecked at it a little, and Noctis playfully shoved her beak back. “Keep racin’ that one. She’s a keeper.”

Noctis stroked his hand down Inanna’s face, the way they’d both grown comfortable with. He wondered if it really was Inanna winning the races with him just a sack of grain on her back, or if they were winning with teamwork. He considered what it felt like on the tracks—wind stinging his eyes and whipping his hair back, the feel of Inanna’s powerful muscles beneath his legs, her wings folded over his knees and her head bent into the wind like the prow of a ship breaking through sea spray. He could distinctly recall letting the reins go slack and letting her find her way—but he also remembered squeezing his knees tight and urging her into a sprint, in tune with her breathing, learning just when her energy began to flag and how long it would take for her to get it back.

Huh.

When he dared Ignis—unruffled, methodical Ignis, who never allowed his Phillippe to outdistance Inanna unless he confirmed with Noctis that it was all right to scout ahead—to a race, he thought it wouldn’t even be a contest.

He was so wrong.

“How,” Noctis panted, sides aching from clinging to Inanna’s back through endless sprints, “how did you—you got so _far_ —and never—”

Ignis chuckled. “Beginner’s luck, perhaps.”

“Yeah, _right_. Let’s go again.”

Ignis eyed Inanna, whose head was drooping as her flanks heaved. “I think not.”

“Come on! Just one more, we can do it—”

“Inanna’s exhausted, and I’ll not let your wounded pride do more grievous injury to your chocobo,” Ignis replied primly, dismounting. “If you wish it, and Inanna is recovered, we will race again tomorrow.”

Noctis hissed quietly under his breath, but Ignis was right, Inanna had done more today than in all the previous courses combined, even the balloon hoops. It was kind of awful. “All right, girl, let’s get you fixed up,” he sighed, taking her reins and leading her in dejected defeat to the pens at the ranch.

The next day Noctis was up early, already insisting on another race, and Ignis acquiesced. Though Noctis tried to time Inanna’s jumps and runs with the layout of the course, still Ignis and Phillippe outpaced them early and kept the distance throughout the race. “Another,” he said shortly at the finish line, and Ignis wordlessly lined up at the start. They raced again. Noctis lost again.

“What the hell!?” he howled as Inanna marched up to the finish line. “Are you using magic? Did you learn how to warp but it only works on chocobos?”

“Skill and assessment only, I assure you,” Ignis said gently. “I don’t want to cause you frustration. Perhaps for today we—”

“Oh no you don’t,” Noctis growled. “Again.”

“Noct, you don’t—”

“ _Again_.”

Ignis sighed and trotted Phillippe to the starting line.

They raced one more time, and this time Noctis gave Inanna her head, let her take the turns and dips as she would, only spurring her on when he felt he could. This time Ignis wasn’t out of sight around the bends of the course—he was right there, they were closing the gap, neck and neck—

The finish line was there, and Ignis coaxed another sprint out of Phillippe, and they inched over the line just ahead of Noctis and Inanna.

“ARGH!” the prince cried, flinging himself out of the saddle in a fit of pique. “Dude, is it you? This course? The weather?”

“Maybe you’re just not that good,” Gladio suggested with a smirk, receiving a glower in return.

“I beat _you_ , big guy, I wouldn’t be so smug.”

“You just need more practice, I guess?” said Prompto, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Inanna’s got the speed, you just have to time your sprints better.”

Noctis crossed his arms, feeling distinctly picked on by the universe. To be beaten by _Ignis_ , of all people. Well, actually, it wasn’t so bad and it kinda made perfect sense but _still._ Not everybody trained as a bloody gymnast when they were younger, some people had other things to do. “Pfft, some speedy bird,” he scoffed, scowling at the ground. He side-eyed Inanna. “You aren’t losing on purpose, are you? Trying to teach me a lesson?”

Prompto squawked. “What! Inanna’s a queen, how dare you say that to her!”

Noctis hunched in further on himself. “Jeez, whatever, Prom. She doesn’t _speak_ , dude, she doesn’t know what I’m saying to her. She’s just a _bird_.”

But apparently Inanna knew enough to know when she was being talked about and when her prince was displeased, because she let out the softest “kweh” he’d heard from her yet, her wingtips drooping and head low, slowly trudging her way towards Phillippe, who nudged her neck with a gentle greeting and nuzzled into her plumage. Noctis watched the birds with reluctant guilt and misery bubbling up in his chest. The others meandered back to the ranch after a little while, and Inanna went with them, refusing to look Noctis in the eye or allow him to take her reins.

Later, when they agreed to set off again, Noctis sat in the backseat of the Regalia and felt a strange sensation. The gentle purr of the car beneath his legs made his skin itch; the leather seats stuck to him uncomfortably, and he felt squashed into the seat without a saddle to straddle. He gritted his teeth through the ride, and as soon as the sun started dipping in the sky, he suggested they pull over and camp at the closest haven. Gladio grunted and Prompto commented on his unusual eagerness, but Noctis didn’t reply to their jibes.

The moon was a tiny sliver in the sky, hardly enough to illuminate the ground below, but Noctis waited until dark anyway to do what he planned. His hand stayed in his pocket throughout dinner, fondling the chocobo whistle. He let the others clean up after dinner and retire to the tent without him. Then, he gently blew the two-tone notes that were so familiar, a little golden spark of magic lighting up his hands.

Feeding all four of their little herd was nearly second nature to Noctis by this point, and he was able to take care of the other mounts and have them settled in around the campfire quickly so that he could turn his attention to Inanna. She was abnormally reserved—small, economical movements, none of the energetic shuffling or chatty cries that were a normal part of her behavior. She stayed at the far corner of the haven and didn’t move toward him or look at him or make any acknowledgement of his presence. Noctis slowly approached her, a handful of sylkis greens in his palm, and he offered them up wordlessly. Inanna turned her head away.

Noctis sighed and tossed the greens toward the roosting birds. “Hey,” he whispered, running his hand down her flank as he walked around to her side and mounted up. Inanna barely reacted. Gently, he took the reins and clucked, walking her down the ramp of the haven. They wouldn’t go far—the daemons had become more and more dangerous and frequent the past few weeks—but he had a feeling she needed this time as much as he did. He paced Inanna in slow, thoughtful circles around the base of the haven stone, reaching out to drag his fingertips over the glowing runes occasionally.

“Okay,” he said after a bit, blowing out a heavy breath, “I’m an ass. You’re the most gorgeous, talented, super-speedy chocobo around, and I’m not worthy to sit you. And, uh, if I sound sarcastic at all saying this then I’m double sorry. Uhm.”

Inanna glanced over her shoulder, then looked forward again, her stride never breaking.

“I know you can hear me.”

He heard a snort.

“See, now I’m _sure_ of it. Did I mention you’re the smartest bird? And the sweetest, and the funniest? I should give up on my marriage to Luna. We should elope.”

Inanna’s crest ruffled, and she shifted under his loose grip.

“That’s not really legal where I come from, but hey, there have probably been weirder matches. Maybe there’s somebody with a cactuar fetish out there.”

A soft “kweh”.

“Whaddaya say, girl? Wanna run away with me?”

Inanna halted, her wings tense. She turned and fixed Noctis with her eye, now bright and somehow containing a wicked glint. She clicked her beak a couple times, then let out a bugling “KWEEEH!” and took off running—away from the haven.

“Whoa, whoa—Inanna— _Inanna_ , stop, it’s _night_ —”

The bird didn’t respond, and she shook the reins from Noctis’s hands whenever he tried to catch her head. She sprinted off into the trees, her feet never stumbling on the uneven ground, never tripping over the low rocks embedded in the earth, and when the air suddenly rippled and the ground heaved and the sound of iron squealing against iron rang through the dark, she still didn’t hesitate. The air rippled again, and the meaty popping sound of bombs growing from sparks to their recognizable form made Noctis wince. He looked over his shoulder; three bright orange bombs, maybe four, and a kind of iron giant he had only seen from a distance, the bludgeoning length of its sword wreathed in flame. Suddenly his neck twisted around the other way, forced by momentum, as Inanna spun in place and froze, facing down the daemon horde.

“Uhh…” Noctis groaned, wondering how he had gotten into this. “Inanna…”

The iron giant let out a roar, and two of the bombs made a beeline for the prince. Noctis prepared to launch himself off his chocobo’s back, drew the armiger to the forefront of his mind—but then he lost all focus as Inanna made a trilling, echoing kind of cry that he hadn’t heard before and threw herself forward with Noctis clinging to her feathers. He screamed and dragged his sword free of the armiger’s magic.

But he didn’t have to use it: it was over before he even had a chance to swing. Inanna bolted towards the daemons without hesitation, sidestepped the stream of fire the first two bombs breathed their way, leapt over a second firestorm, and dodged between the iron giant’s legs. Noctis felt his skin prickle with heat and smelled burnt hair, and the breath felt heavy and sick in his lungs as he screamed in unadulterated fear. Chocobos were not built to fight daemons, they were both going to get _roasted—_

The giant’s sword crashed harmlessly into the underbrush behind them as Inanna broke out of the knot of melee and dashed over the rocks and grass, heading to the faint glow of blue-green beyond the trees. Heavy footsteps throbbed through the forest around them—Noctis looked over his shoulder and saw the giant and bombs pursuing them, but they were quickly shrinking into the distance as Inanna darted ahead. Noctis’s breathless scream grew strength and became a whooping, exhilarated howl, and he laughed freely as Inanna closed the gap between them and the haven and finally took a flapping hop up onto the stone ramp to safety.

Inanna strolled into camp as if nothing had happened. Noctis, windblown, panting, singed and just about ready to piss himself, adrenaline running high in his blood, tumbled bonelessly off her back and rolled across the stone, nearly into the dimmed campfire. He barely registered the sound of the tent zipper. “Noct!”

“What the heck, Noct—”

“What _happened_?”

Noctis looked up from the ground, dazed and grinning maniacally, at his three sleep-rumpled friends. They all watched him with varying degrees of concern; Ignis knelt beside him, obviously looking him over for wounds and tutting when he found shallow scrapes from his graceless introduction to the ground. “We _raced_ ,” Noctis gasped, stomach still aching from tension, “with _daemons_.”

Inanna none-too-subtly head-butted Ignis out of her way and trailed her beak through Noctis’s mussed hair, pecking at his clothes and gently bumping his shoulder.

“We _won_!” Noctis crowed, and dissolved into half-hysterical giggles. The other three men exchanged looks. Gladio shook his head and returned to the tent. Prompto shifted his weight to one side, arms crossed and head tilted at a bemused angle.

“Well,” he said, “at least they’ve made up now, right?”

“Thank the gods,” Ignis said dryly. “Perhaps now we can all roost peacefully.”

 

5.

Warp. Gravity, pulling on his arm, sending tight fire through his muscles. Drop. Warp. Blur of magic, blur of dust, the walls of the crater resolved, the bandersnatch’s hind foot before him. Sword, double horizontal slash, javelin, three jabs and an overhand swing, up into the air, down and away, air rushing over the back of his neck. Near miss. He was slowing down.

“Noct!” Ignis had always had an alarmingly battle-suited voice, carrying over the clang of weapons and roar of monsters or men. “Can you get out?”

“It’s a _crater_ ,” Noctis yelled, “so _no_!”

“Less talking, more killing!” Gladio growled.

“I seriously think we’ve bit off more than we can chew,” Prompto panted, scrambling away from the creature’s clawed feet. “Can’t we run?”

“If you find a way out, feel free to share,” Noctis replied with a grunt as he slid away from the swipe of a tail.

They hadn’t meant to land in here. It had been so long since they were in Leide, they forgot about the craters, forgot about the beasts that lurked within; Noctis and Gladio had scoffed at the idea of using the map to find their way around, and now they were in a pit with a vicious monster and no way out. Low on curatives, low on stamina, and already they’d been fighting for long, painful minutes, dodging in and out of combat to try to catch a breather where they could. The bandersnatch was aggressive, chasing them from one end of the crater to the other, and frankly Noctis was starting to get pissed.

Warp. Dodge, warp again—greatsword, too slow, nearly gored on a jagged tusk—Noctis growled and flinched at the slash in his side, spun through the air and didn’t get his bearings quickly enough to warp out. He hit the ground with a slap, blood splashing in the dust. Fumble for a drink, pop the cap with his teeth—a potion, hardly anything, but enough to get his wind back.

Stand up. Shake it off. Warp. Do it again.

Sword, side jump and downward slash, dodge, dodge, chase it down—Prompto— _Prom_ —

Prompto screamed, a sound that chilled Noctis’s blood, as the bandersnatch barreled into him, clawing and stomping and jabbing with its horned head. It leapt away and left Prompto prone on the ground, machinery mangled in the dirt, Prompto looking like a slab of meat. Noctis pushed himself upright and ran, stumbling, tripped and sprawled next to him with a can of something ready, let it be an elixir, let it be _something useful_ —

He shook Prompto awake enough to swallow. “Stay with me, buddy…” The drink only half went into Prompto’s mouth, but the gunslinger’s eyes flickered with awareness and pain, and beneath the mask of blood some of his cuts began to close. “Don’t get so close,” Noctis said, and warped up onto the cliff. He hadn’t prepared any magic, didn’t have the time now—warp back in, a Royal Arm in his hand, whispering of death and power and magic, taking great chunks out of the bandersnatch’s flesh but tearing out something of Noctis with every hit.

Gladio summoned his shield just in time as the bandersnatch’s jaws closed around his arm. He let out a guttural snarl almost as loud as the beast as blood seeped from its mouth, the sound of protesting metal against teeth making Noctis’s nerves jangle. Ignis leapt in, spear aimed at the hinge of the creature’s jaw, leveraging its mouth open and distracting it with enough pain that it let go. He flipped out of the way of its retaliatory strike, mouth set in a grim line. When he landed his jacket had a long tear in the sleeve. They were all losing speed, losing striking power.

Noctis shook the sweat and hair out of his eyes and gripped the hilt of his sword tight. He might have to switch to daggers, which would be dangerous and not as powerful, but he didn’t have much choice if he couldn’t get the force to hit behind a swing—

_Something_ hit him from behind, a painful thump to the base of his spine, and then another chest-rattling impact as he landed.

He was completely unprepared for the crater to rotate upside-down, the sky beneath him and the dusty ground above, jouncing and jolting like an earthquake only—not—

The unmistakable smell of chocobo feathers registered in his nose just before the meaty, rank smell of the bandersnatch overwhelmed him, and suddenly they were _beneath it_ —

Noctis managed to pull his daggers from the armiger and get both arms out and braced, dragging the blades through the soft underbelly of the monster, despite the shock and confusion. He still lost one to the pull of momentum as Inanna rushed out from under the monster, dancing out of reach of its claws. “What the hell,” he gasped eloquently, sprawled at a bad angle over the chocobo’s back, one foot stuck in the bridle (probably the only thing that had kept him in place), one stirrup slapping him in the face. His back was _killing_ him. He grabbed at Inanna’s neck feathers and hauled himself upright, ignoring her squawk. “Um, what was that?!”

Inanna kept running, glancing back his way, feathers ruffled and tone indignant as she responded with a huffy “Wark!” Noctis wiped dust from his mouth, one hand practically fused to the pommel of the saddle in a death grip. He looked around frantically, spotted the bandersnatch dozens of feet away, still tangling with Ignis and Gladio. Prompto had taken shelter behind a boulder and was taking potshots. They were badass, but they were tired and out of magic.

And he just got a whole bunch of force behind his swings.

Noctis leaned forward to Inanna’s cheek. “Let’s do it,” he hissed, and the bird cried out, jumped, and hit the ground at full speed, aiming right for the snapping, snarling bandersnatch. Noctis withdrew one of the heavy swords of the royal blood and held it ready in a two-handed grip. “Around and under,” he breathed, unsure if Inanna could hear him or not, but trusting that she knew what to do. She swung close to the bandersnatch’s flank on one side, let Noctis get a negligible strike in to grab its attention, ducked under its tail and zipped around, then saw her opening as the monster reared to spin. Noctis lifted his sword, slashed in a cross-body attack.

The sword stuck in the bandersnatch’s spiny, bony hide, and Noctis was ripped from his seat in the saddle, dangling from the sword’s hilt like a lure on a line. He had a single heartbeat to stare into the enraged eyes of the beast, stunned, as it turned and growled at him, before the bandersnatch twisted into itself and attempted to bite him.

Noctis acted on instinct. He warped up to the bony plates at the top of the bandersnatch’s head, summoned the longest sword in his arsenal, and with as much lift as he could gain he jumped and plunged the sword down into the monster’s head.

It jerked, pawed at the air for a moment, and collapsed.

The wind stirred the dust in the bowl of the earth, sending a chill down Noctis’s sweat-soaked spine.

Gladio jammed his sword upright into the ground. _“What_ ,” he bawled, “the _fuck_ ,” he jabbed his finger at the corpse of the bandersnatch with Noctis still crouched on its neck, “was _that_?”

“Bandersnatch,” Ignis replied succinctly, leaning on his spear.

“I know that,” Gladio growled. “What was it doing in a dust bowl in Leide just a mile from Hammerhead? Why did nobody tell us? And why wasn’t it on the _fucking_ map!?”

“We weren’t looking at the map,” Prompto sighed, his eyes closed, head tilted back against the boulder.

“More importantly,” Ignis said, looking into the distance, “when did you have time to call for the chocobos, Noct?”

Noct gazed at Inanna, pecking absently at the barren ground. If he squinted into the deep purple shadows of the crater, he could just make out the bright feathers of the other three chocobos in their little herd. His back was starting to throb and ache where the saddle had abused him, and his shoulder screamed in agony from the strength needed to match Inanna’s momentum.

He looked down at the slain bandersnatch, opening and closing his empty hand thoughtfully.

“I didn’t,” he murmured, still fighting to catch his breath.

 

6.

“Guys,” Prompto whispered from his camp chair. “Look.”

Gladio glanced up from the supply packs; Ignis looked over his shoulder, hands still poised over the cutting board. Curled up near the tent, Inanna watched them with a steady gaze, head up and eyes alert. Beneath her wing lay a peacefully sleeping Noctis. Despite what must have been an uncomfortable bed on the cold rocks, still wearing dirt-encrusted clothes and covered in chocobo feathers, the gentle hint of a smile on his lips where his head was just visible above the chocobo’s wing spoke of deep comfort and serenity. None of the other three young men had seen an expression like that on the prince’s face since before they left Insomnia—even longer than that, perhaps.

“I thought he hated the smell of chocobos,” Gladio murmured under his breath.

“As did I,” Ignis replied thoughtfully.

Inanna lowered her head to nuzzle Noctis’s dark, messy hair.

“Awwwww!” Prompto squealed breathlessly. “Oh my god hang on I have to get a picture—” Prompto’s quick, jerky fumbling with his camera drew Inanna’s attention, and she scrutinized him briefly before peeping in a soft, admonishing tone. It only made Prompto squeal more as he lifted his camera and clicked.

Ignis turned away with a soft smile. Gladio clucked in an affectionate way and dropped a hand on Prompto’s shoulder. “Let him sleep,” he whispered, tapping the camera. “C’mon, help me check ingredients with Iggy.”

They cooked dinner with a kind of hushed merriment, and Noctis slept on, snuggling into his chocobo’s feathers and huddling beneath her wing as if no other place in the world felt as safe. Inanna kept watch faithfully, and when her eyes turned to the dozing prince at her side, they shone with a fondness that no one would dare deny.


End file.
